


Sweet Oblivion

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You never met that woman that would make you want to lay the whole world at her feet - no, this isn't true. </i></p><p>You did meet someone that you would do that for, and gladly. You would even lay the entire Milky Way at their feet. But it has been your curse that you had to choose to fall in love with someone you never could have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on LJ on August 20th, 2006.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.

"One of your girls again?" Sebastian asks, and you slide your cell shut.

"Yeah," you just say. What else can you say, faced with that raised eyebrow? That voice? You know that Sebastian would like to see you settle down with a nice woman, someone who loves you and whom you love, too. But, instead, all you do is meet pretty women at parties or in discos, and then you turn your famous Metzelder charm on, and bang, they're yours, smiling brightly and making small-talk heavy with innuendos, and when their warmpliant bodies touch yours, not by mistake - you know that you've found yourself some hours' distraction.

But then there's Basti again, Basti with his Tina, his first love that he met in a café and he has often told you how they met, him not yet on the road to fame, just one of these youth footballers, eager and a thirst unquenched for the game, and her not impressed at all, and he had to throw himself into it to make her turn her head, to make her his.

And now she's happy with him, and vice versa - now even expecting a baby boy -, and you have nothing to show for yourself. You have only some failed relationships under your belt, the longest - two years - ended because of your moodiness that she couldn't deal with, wouldn't. And then, as soon as you found that women would still turn their heads after you, it became another game with you. Not as beautiful and pure as the game that you are paid for to deliver every week, sweaty-faced and with a hoarse voice, grass blades sticking to your skin, your jersey splattered with mud and Basti hanging on to you, laughing with joy.

This other game that you alone play, that you can't stop to play is rather too easy. Too superficial, yes, and yet you gain pleasure from it - the most carnal, and the oblivion that follows it grants you at least some rest from your unruly mind. A rest dearly appreciated and gained at a high price - but one that you set the rules for.

And you know that Basti's not happy about it. He sees how often your cell rings, watches you talk with the women at parties, was over at yours when you had no time to hide the traces of past night's lovemaking. He has tried to talk to you about it, has asked you if you really _need_ it.

You had always just shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to look him in the eyes. Because you do need it.

You do love women, you like the way they mewl and sigh and moan when you're buried in them, deep, and how they smell, and their breasts, all the different sizes and forms, all equally beautiful - you like their bodies, every inch, every fold. You like their sweet voices, how they look at you, full with adoration, or impishly wink at you, their cleavages heaving, inviting you. You love the way they give themselves up to you fully, no questions asked after the first that you easily dispersed with reassurances - but you always told them that you weren't in for a relationship and they agreed easily. You know that part of it is your fame, the fact that they're going to be fucked by _you_.

You do care about them, but it never was enough. You never met that woman that would make you want to lay the whole world at her feet - no, this isn't true.

You did meet someone that you would do that for, and gladly. You would even lay the entire Milky Way at their feet. But it has been your curse that you had to choose to fall in love with someone you never could have. Someone you never wanted to fall in love with, and yet you did. You couldn't help yourself, and when you realized what you had done, it was too late.

And the only way to forget this unthinkable love is to play the other game. To distract yourself from endless what if's, could have beens, maybes. From the impossibility of it.

You know that it probably will backfire on you, but for now it is the only way for you to make sense of all this. You fear that if you stop this game, the ache that you have so far managed to live with will gain, will cut deeper, leave you bleeding openly for everyone to see - for _him_ to see, and what will become of you, then?

You don't want that.

So you go on playing the game, seeking out women who are willing to make you forget.

And you stand his worrying glances. You stand his awkward questions. You stand his meant-to-be-comforting touches. You stand all this with a faint smile on your lips. Because if there's something worth going through this, he certainly is. Your friendship is, that bond forged some five years ago and that you don't want to miss, ever. You would gladly give up everything else - even the beautiful game - if you could only keep your friendship - and him.

Basti.

(But you sometimes whisper his name to yourself on the rare nights that you're alone in your bed, you touch yourself imagining that it's him touching you, closing the strongsure hand around your cock, and you spread your legs, the cover scraping over your skin and you rock up into your hand and bite on your lips, your eyes crunching shut, losing yourself into this impossible fantasy and giving into that sweetdesperate pleasure.

And when you come, it almost knocks you out with its sheer force, and then you lie there, panting and wide-eyed and while the last rush spreads through your body, you know that facing him in the morning will be next to impossible, and your hand searches blindly for your cell on the floor next to you.)

* fin *


End file.
